


Home Sweet Home

by To_Shiki



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Domestic Fluff, Multi, Returning From A Hunt, Shaving, Trevor needs a bath, beta'ed by the Hemingwayapp, but not the sexy kind, hopefully it did a better job than me!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 19:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15322914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/To_Shiki/pseuds/To_Shiki
Summary: Trevor returns from a 2 month long hunt.





	Home Sweet Home

It’s pitch black out as he sleepily directs his equally exhausted horse up the long winding drive.  On either side of the dirt lane, manicured shrubs reach up towards the overcast sky.  Fluffy snow covers everything, hiding any imperfections.  Sound’s muffled by the snow, sucking up all noise from the world around them.  Breath from man and beast visibly fog up and disperse as they pass lit torches.

An eternity later and they’re at the front door.  The sudden footsteps from the stable boy rushing up to take the reins is jarring.  Light, warm and orange, is blinding when the large ornate doors are violently thrown open.  Several of the manservants rush out.  Hands grabbing at his packs, voices inquiring on his well being, helping from his mount.  Sharp eyes pierce through his armor as they take in his disheveled appearance.

“Shall I call for Lady Sypha, sir?” asks his head servant, an elderly, no nonsense woman, when he limps across the threshold.  She was one of the few employed by the Belmonts in days past.  One who’d survived and knew exactly how bullish the young man could be.

“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Weber.”  His voice is rough, hoarse from the freezing winter air and lack of conversation.  “I’m sure she’s working on something important.”  Last he’d known, there was a Speaker caravan in the nearby town.

Mrs. Weber’s tight-lipped frown isn’t encouraging.  “Master Adrian then?”  The tone is all polite and questioning, but her demeanor is most certainly __not__.  She hasn’t even let him past the foyer, assisting another in divesting him of his traveling clock and gear.

Snow melts off and puddles at his socked feet.  “No, no.  I’m fine.  There’s no need to pull him away from his research just yet.”  A shudder wracks his body as the doors shut behind him.  The heat of several hearths and nearby ovens creep along his limbs.  Reminds him of just how long he’s been out in the cold.

“Mmhmm,” she hums, eyes narrowing.  “As you wish, sir.  Shall I have a bath run for you?”

Groaning at just the thought of soaking away a month’s worth of road and chill, he agrees wholeheartedly.  “Now __that__  would be wonderful.”  It was times like these that he was overly thrilled he’d found her again after the defeat of Dracula.  She knows just what’s needed after one of her hunters returns.

With that she settled, she allows him into the house proper.  Two of the boys rush off to heat the water.  Another is directed to the kitchen to gather a plate and warm drink.  With a groan, Trevor flips down into the nearest chair in the smaller of the two dining rooms.  He doesn’t have to wait long until both items are placed in front of him.

Everyone politely averts their eyes as he digs in.  They’re quite used to their master needing to to readjust to being back in the company of others.  The hunt in the mountains had lasted longer than planned, and so he had to rely on what he could hunt down.  

Plate scraped clean and mug emptied, Trevor holds his head in his hands and __breathes__.  A full belly weighing him down.  Warmth finally reaching all the way down to his bones.  Quiet chatter surrounds him as his servants putter about.

It feels like hours have passed before he can lift his head again.  The dining room isn’t as full as when he first came in.  But no one has fetched him for his bath just yet, so it couldn’t have been too long.

Beside him waits Mrs. Weber.  Her face has lost some of the worry lines that always form when he first returns from a hunt.  Now there’s a hint of a smile as she calls over another servant.  Her grey eyes hold a sparkle as she quietly says, “Welcome home, Master Trevor.”  She signals one of the waiting boys to her.

Taking her hand in his, he can’t help placing a kiss on the back of her age-wrinkled knuckles.  “It’s good to be home, Mrs. Weber.”

Using the young man as a crutch, Trevor stands tall, a good head taller than her.  A month long beard scratches at her cheek as he lays another kiss at her temple.  “Always brightens my heart to see the manor still standing when I get back.”

“I do my best, sir.”

“To keep it standing or knock it all down?” Trevor sasses only when he’s hobbled a safe distance away.

She gives him the stink eye as he grins.  “Depends on how much you decide to push me, __sir__.” 

~*~

An hour spent in the tub, first to actually clean, then completely drained and refilled to soak.  It took two times of refilling until all the grime and gore gets washed away.

Now, tub refilled for the third time, steam obscuring everything, Trevor practically __melts__.  Skin reddened from the scrubbing and heat.  Arms resting limply in his lap, head resting back against the rim.  Drops of water and sweat trickle down his face and neck, his chest, as he awaits the next step in coming home from a long hunt.

A few minutes later comes a brisk knock on the door.

“Enter.”  As the door opens, Trevor situates himself so that he’s more comfortable.  Arms come up and out of the water to brace along the outside of the tub.  Legs straighten out, leaving him at a higher recline than earlier.

“Welcome home, Master Trevor,” the young man greets, arms full of supplies.  Within seconds of entering the master bathroom he’s sweating and rosy cheeked from the heat.  “Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

“Was that a pun?”

Both snort as young Masbeth sets up.  A rolled towel under Trevor’s neck for support.  Towels soaking in boiling hot water are wrung out and placed one over his mouth and jaw, the other along his neck.  

Lathering up the soap, Masbeth can’t help but ask, “So… how did it go?”  They have a few minutes, might as well hear a story.  He loved hearing them, snickering when it was obvious that Trevor was censoring himself as he spoke.

“It went well.  There was __a lot__  more demons infesting the area than I’d been told.  The fat bastard.”

Trevor regales him on his demon hunting.  The rather innovated cages he’d constructed.  And the extra pay he’d wrangled from the tight-pursed mayor.

Then it was time to shave away said hunt.  Soon the small room’s filled with the rasp of blade against hair.  Halfway through the tub’s drained a little more and more hot water added.  All through the task, Masbeth keeps up a steady stream of talk.  Informing the lightly dozing Trevor of all the going-ons around the manor while he was absent.

Beard finally shaved away, Masbeth moves onto the tangled mess up top.  Maneuvering Trevor into sitting up is a bit of a task.  But he’s used to this, after so many years.  Herbal scented soap is worked in, nimble fingers massaging it into the drowsy hunter’s scalp as well.  A few rises later and he’s ready.  A fine-toothed comb works to gently untangle the brown locks.  Then they’re attacked by scissors.  

Within half an hour Masbeth has the master of the house presentable (and slightly more awake) once more. 

~*~

Clean and dressed, Trevor gingerly makes his way to the study after a short delay.

The bath had had the unfortunate side effect of reopening the three claw marks half a foot long down his right thigh.  So he got to sit through the somewhat embarrassing ordeal of having one of the more medically inclined servants(trained by Sypha and Adrian themselves) stitching him up while in nothing more than a tunic and smallclothes.

Now he’s free to document the hunt and everything that happened along the way.  He’s been told several times, both in the past and now, that snark was __not__  supposed to be included in the bestiaries.  But well, who’s to stop him now?

It takes little more than an hour to complete his task.  What actually took the most time was having to hunt down a fresh pot of ink.  Then there was scribbling of notes, rough sketches of the demons, a very unflattering drawing of the mayor…

As the grandfather clock in the corner strikes ten, Trevor finally gets up from the desk.  He gathers up his notes and at the end of a spine-popping stretch, dramatically balls them up and chucks them into the fire.  The extra burst of heat as they burn is glorious.  Without meaning to, he’s plopped down onto the thick bearskin rug in front of the fireplace. 

Calloused hands rub over the smooth fur, another luxury after so long in the wilderness.  It goes along well with his full belly, clean skin and fresh clothes.  For just a minute, he can close his eyes and __relax__.  Untense his injured leg.  Rest his head for a minute on something not reeking of dirt and snow.

Just a minute without thinking about his next move.  Just a minute of not having to fight.

Just a minute… 

~*~

The world is warm and dark and quiet.  There’s no shrieking demons, no blubbering mayors, no crunch of bones or dripping of fluids.  A little hotter than desired along one side.  The ground a smidgen softer than normal.  But.  Sweet, peaceful nothingness.

Until a sigh sounds from somewhere above him.  It sounds a little put out and… fond?  It echos once, over at the entrance to the study.  

Study?

Right.  He’s back home.  And neither of those sighs sounded like Mrs. Weber.  Which means…

Slowly, and with much reluctance, Trevor cracks open an eye.  Only the one, and only a little bit.  It wouldn’t do to let them know he’s fully awake.  Because then Adrian would quit finger combing his newly trimmed hair.  Sypha would stop looking at him so lovingly as she joins the two of them on the rug.

It’s all for not, because as soon as she settles down on his other side, her hands join in.  Softly, they card through his hair, down his forehead and over closed eyes.  Ever so softly they brush against his lips, a light chuckle drifting down when he parts them automatically.  Down further they go, gently pressing along his chest, his ribs.  Kneading at his stomach, firmly along first one leg, then the other.  Those small, life-hardened hands don’t stop until they reach his right thigh.

“And what is this?” she questions.  There’s something in her voice, a lilt to it suggesting that she __knows__  exactly what lies underneath his trousers, but wants to hear the words from him.

“Hmmm,” is all he’s able to get out.  Not once during her inspection has Adrian ceased his ministrations.  Slight pressure from sharp nails constantly send little sparks of pleasure from scalp to toes nonstop.  A little longer and he’ll float away.

A light smack of flesh against flesh makes all that stop.

“Adrian Tepes!  I want him awake, not out snoring like a congested bear!”

And with that reprimand, the hand pulls away.  Trevor’s man enough to admit he gives out a little whine at the loss.  Anyone would!  Adrian’s hands are __magic__  when he puts them to good use!

They come back, though.  Just not where he wants them right now.  They join the pair of hands working on unlacing and removing his trousers.  Together they deprive him of his nice, soft, __warm__ trousers, leaving him to the mercy of their clinical stares.  A hand rests on the band of his smallclothes and that’s when he finally wakes up enough to glare.

He doesn’t want to have sex right now.  Or fool around.  He just wants to __sleep__  for the next week.  That hunt was draining, damnit!  He even tells them so with a, “Wha ‘ou d’ing?  Nuuuuuuu!”  He manages to flop a hand up on top of the one on his hip, weakly holding it in place.

“Ah, the great hunter brought down by head scratches.”  

“Fuck you, Alucard.”

“Nope.  None of that until I get a good look at this.”  Sypha’s quick to shoot them down before it can devolve into sniping at each other.

Bandages are carefully unwound.  Salve wiped away to expose the gashes underneath.  Above him, he can hear Sypha muttering praises and criticism at the work.  Adrian adds his own information from over by the desk - telling the room at large what had made those marks, if they were poisoned or not.

“Alice did good, but you and I both know she’s not confident enough to do stitches on anything other than fabric,” Trevor grumbles.

“I know.  She told us as soon as we arrived home.”

Aha!  That’s how she knew what he was hiding in his pants!  Soon a soothing warmth started spreading through the wounded limb.

“Aww, man.  I wanted them to scar.”

“Why on Earth would you want even __more__  scars, Trevor?”  Adrian’s all exasperated.  It doesn’t stop him from rubbing calming circles into his lower abdomen.

“Because scars are sexy?”  Like the two of them don’t know that with how often they enjoy tracing all his other ones with fingers and tongues.

Sypha finishes her healing but keeps her where they are.  “Any _ _more__  scars and we won’t be able to fit your big head through the door!”

“Is that why the front entrance has double doors that wide?” Adrian snickers at Trevor’s huff.  While Sypha keeps rechecking her work, he slides his hand up, up to rest on his human’s breastbone.  He’s busy counting the lazy beats of the heart underneath his hand and misses a few words.

“-you grew up in so it’s not like you have any room to talk!”

“That is true,” Sypha agrees.  “The doors to your birth home were as tall as our home!”

Oh.  Right.  Dracula’s castle was a mishmash of interesting designs.  

Adrian tries to open his mouth to defend himself, his father - not his mother.  Her ego was just the right size to keep the two of them in line and still walk through the doors unhindered.  Still, he should at least defend his deceased father’s home design choices.  It’s only right.

While the two of them start arguing semantics over his prone body, Trevor savors it all like the sap he (not so secretly) is.  The weight of their hands on his body.  Voices light and teasing as they compare everything within the Tepes home.  The warmth radiating off their bodies, mixing with the heat from the fire.

“Ya know what we haven’t done yet?” Trevor gets out with barely a slur to his words.  Sleep’s reaching out to him with open arms, but there’s something they have to do first.

“I don’t think you’re in any condition for __that__ ,” one of them laughs, hand gently stroking his hair away from his face.

The other hums contemplatively.  “He may not be.  It could be fun, though.”  Their hand joins the other’s.  Both start petting him - long, firm strokes from head to chest and back again.

Trevor leans into the touches like an overly large, foul-mouthed feline.  If he could he’d be purring right now with how content he is.  Instead he asks, “Kisses?” as pathetically as he can muster.

Which is pretty pathetic right now because he’s one more caress away from conking out on them.

“Oh, I __suppose__  we can do that, at lease.”

And that’s how Trevor falls deep asleep:  warm, calloused hands lightly touching his vulnerable body as lips press kisses all over his face.  

When he awakens a day and a half later, they’ll feed him and ravish him as the traditional ‘welcome home’ ritual demands.

 


End file.
